


I find it hard to let go (and give up on you)

by cutiepatootieharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: But mostly fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, although there are mentions of self harm so I shall tag it, and it's sort of a reflection on myself?? yeah., anyways enjoy this because it has been my baby since april, tHIS IS JUST SUCH A FLUFFY SELF INDULGENT WORK ON MY PART, this is part 1 of 2 as well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:03:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4531758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutiepatootieharry/pseuds/cutiepatootieharry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis shakes his head, running his own fingers through the back, "Harry, I honesty don't know. You, you passed out and I didn't know what to do, so-so I held you and pleaded for you to wake up. A-And when you didn't, I knew I had to stay, I couldn't just leave you Harry." </p>
<p>At this point, he doesn't know what to say. All his life he's been able to deal with what happens to him, by himself. And that's why, he realizes, he's dumbed down the happenings of his pain and sadness so much, they don't mean anything. They aren't anything. But, to Louis, whatever had  happened last night broke everything inside him. </p>
<p>Which, broke Harry even more.  </p>
<p>or, Harry often finds himself worrying about the littlest things that shouldn’t even matter as much as they do. Louis  just happens to always be there when he needs it most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I find it hard to let go (and give up on you)

**Author's Note:**

> [please read the tags before proceeding to read this work, as there are mentions of certain situations and actions that could trigger, thank you.] 
> 
> As expressed in the tags this story has been my baby since ages ago, really. I haven't spent this large of an amount of time on anything, ever. And I'm more than happy to finally be publishing it. Which reminds me (!!) this is part one out of two and in addition was very poorly edited, so please go easy on me for any mistakes. But, as always, I hope you enjoy!

September. Harry absolutely dreads the month, partially because that means he must move away again, start the humdrum routine of university and empty nights inside his flat studying away for a purpose he has not yet discovered. His mum begins to cry as she drops him off at the union hall, wiping her tears as she wipes his, they hug one last time before parting. 

Classes don’t begin until the following day meaning Harry has the remaining evening and all of tomorrow to at least try to make a friend. Being enrolled three years, anyone would believe Harry to have friends. And if not a ton at least one or even two. But, since half the kids that attend uni alongside him have blurred him out of the entire aspect, it’s just Harry, and he’s okay with that. Or, at least that’s what he tells himself. 

“You’re okay.” 

It has become some sort of a mantra in which he repeats into the mirror while waking up every morning, so much so that he has even began to believe it. And maybe sometimes Harry is okay but just like everyone else, sometimes is not always the case. He imagines it in the way others tell a lie. You begin by telling small, white lies. Eventually you get so engulfed in the fantasy you have created that there is no way to differentiate between what is reality and what your mind has trained itself into believing. Harry believes he is okay but in the depths of his own mind he know’s he is indefinitely far from it. 

Usually he takes being alone with a grain of salt, but that is only if he isn’t digging too deep into the subject. Sitting on his bed in the darkness of night, just thinking. Maybe if he wasn’t always so engulfed in the thoughts that so often cross his mind, just maybe a friend would come along. And what he thinks about isn’t weird. Harry’s just anxious and a little bit sad but, that’s it. He doesn’t have cancer and he is not dying, although sometimes he feels that way but that’s why it’s so difficult. The illnesses that reside as a part of him usually take in the rest of him. So when someone asks why he is always alone or worries too much about situations that most don’t second guess, he just gives them a blank stare, not knowing where to even begin. 

Where does one begin? Harry wants someone to talk to. He wants to be able to get outside his own thoughts and hear someone elses voice for a change but his anxiety doesn’t let him and his depression is too selfish to care. Life just goes and goes and Harry finds himself letting it pass by. Soon enough he loses track of the days which turn into weeks, two weeks exactly. Only two weeks and he is already beginning to let another year slip through his fingers. Up to this point he has missed nine days of class, or at least nine is the only number that seems tangible enough to remember. 

His bed has began to make an indent of where his body has laid, not moving. There are moments where Harry thinks he could get out of bed and accomplish the task of going to class or the bookshop down the street. But, he only thinks this and never does anything about it. His only actual physical movement involves useless scribbles he confides inside his journal. 

It was on one of those days where the sky is pale but illuminated enough for the light to shine a perfect amount through the shades on his window, where he finds a way to explain it. As his mind creates the words, his hand creates the silhouettes that form a curly script on his paper. 

“It’s as if I’m suspended in mid air. Skydiving and or parachuting of some sort. But then, halfway down, I realize it. My parachute is broken. I’m falling, falling, falling. Heart racing and pulse quickening. And then, I hit the ground and just lie there. That’s what it’s like. To be so worried about falling and then hitting the ground, to never get up again.” 

Satisfied with his entry he shuts his journal and turns over on his side. As soon as he closes his eyes he hears a faint sound by his door. Like a shear pin dropping onto the wooden floor. He turns over with a groan and just stares at what he finds, which is definitely not a pin. It looks to be a small sticky note. The paper is pink, as far as Harry can tell, but like most things, this mysterious note doesn’t send him shooting up and out of his bed, although it sparks various thoughts. So much so that he has to get up and go look at what may or may not be scribbled on it’s surface. 

Bones cracking and all as he sits up to slide off his bed. His feet are cold and his toes begin to curl as a result, but Harry does not bother to put on his slippers, instead he makes his way to the door and picks up the small note. With shaking hands he turns the delicate object over, finding the side with writing. An uncontainable, mostly small, gasp escapes his lips as he reads the messy handwriting. 

 

“Hey. I know this is odd to be slipping notes under your door. Very stalkerish of me, I realize. But, I’ve seen you in the library a few times (...once again, very stalkerish, yikes!!) and could use a study buddy. Couldn’t help but notice maybe you could use one too? If you want, meet me there, tomorrow half past 3 xx” 

This was the first note Harry would receive from Louis. He just doesn’t know who Louis is. Not yet, at least. 

Instead of burrowing back into bed, Harry starts pacing the perimeter of his flat. The questions flow in and out, like cars passing one another on the highway. As always it gets too much, he ultimately finds himself sat in the middle of it all. Note clutched between his first and second fingers. The anxiety is conjuring up every what if. 

“What if this mysterious-note-leaving person decides they don’t want to be friends and stands me up?”

As much as Harry wanted to stay up and go through each and every ‘what if’ in detail, his depression also had a say and it begged him back to bed. He obliged out of weariness and a deep down desire not to care. Not to get up the following morning, the morning in which he was going to study at the library with someone who had asked to be his friend, just the desire to sleep and never wake up. 

His eyelids fell droopy as soon as his head hit the pillow and his body caught the heat from his comforter. Knees curled into his chest, Harry began to fall under the spell of sleep. This was the first night he had went to bed without shedding even one tear. 

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Rain fell against one of the three windows inside his flat. Much to the contrary, Harry enjoyed when it rained. It helped him cope with whatever was happening internally. Like, the sky resembled the darkness that he had been feeling. Something he could relate to more than on just a surface level. But, even with the rain to coax him out of bed, his stomach squashed any spark he felt towards meeting the infamous sticky-note-stalker. 

Therefore he decided to go to class, just not on his date. Harry imagined saying the word with air quotes and made himself laugh just a bit. He wouldn’t have chosen to get out of bed at all but his grades told a different story. His professors were worried that he had fallen ill and would like to see him back in class. 

Harry found this to be a line of utter bullshit. He had heard that the teachers inboxes were programed to send those emails whenever a student had missed class. This hurt. Only because it was the first time anyone, besides his mum, was genuinely concerned over his health and well-being. Harry just pushed it deep down. His feelings and the way he processed emotion had turned into some what of a filing system. 

He kept all his thoughts, feelings, memories, organized within his brain. Surely he was even surprised to exercise the amount of information a human brain could obtain. There was a lot and although Harry didn’t track every memory or thought he had the majority. The important bits. 

Like the time he fell and broke his arm while at the park. His sister, Gemma, had screamed for help so loud her voice went hoarse but she was scared. He could feel it. As for himself, Harry cannot remember the pain or what he was feeling at the time, but his doctor told him that it was normal and thinking back on it now he knows why this particular memory was so prominent. This was the first time anyone had told him that what he was feeling was indoubtedly normal. He left the hospital that day with a broken arm and the slightest of grins across his face. 

Even thinking back on the memory made his grin appear. It had been a while since he woke up in an actual mood to go to class. So, he went and it was alright. Harry’s major was one people often associated with being unworthy.

Genetics is defined as,the study of heredity and the variation of inherited characteristics. Harry chose to study this at university because he thought he would find answers to why he was so different from his family members. His mum was quite the social light and his sister was very smart. Harry had determined that he was somewhere in the middle. He wasn’t smarter than his sister but also wasn’t as social as his mum. 

After sorting through his thoughts and proceeding on with his day, Harry found himself laying in bed once again. The clock on his bed-side table read, 10:02. Realizing the time, he got himself out and padded over to the sink to brush his teeth. Looking into the mirror he began to brush his teeth and wash his face. The amount of sleep in his eyes was unforgiving. Nonetheless, Harry was proud of himself for accomplishing the even more taunting task of getting out of bed. Sitting in class he realised how much he missed being able to hear a lecture or just sit in the back and doze off. For once, Harry was excited to attend class yet again tomorrow. 

Out of all the day's accomplishments, he couldn’t help but feel a bit defeated as well. He had missed his library session with the proclaimed sticky-note-stalker. It made him frown over the thought of not receiving another note. In the end, Harry had took it upon himself to remember to ask this person for their name. That is, if a note was ever to hit his flat’s floor in the near, or distant, future. Although, he hoped the time period wouldn’t be too far away. 

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Opening the curtains the next morning had given Harry a more positive outlook on how the day might unfold. It was sunny, the kind of sun that wasn’t warm-on-your-back but, made-even-the-grumpiest-of-grumps-grin, kind of sun. It was beautiful and Harry could not wait to attend class. His sudden interest in life, again, came as part of a dream he had while sleeping the past night. Normally, he wasn’t one to dream, more so have a vivid dream such as this one. 

He was sitting inside a diner gazing out the immense glass window leading into the street. The diner, which Harry had never caught the name of, was settled in one of London’s busiest corners. Snow and the sight of Christmas lights in the distance gave him the warm feeling he had usually associated with the Holidays. It, in fact, had become his favorite time of year. 

Seated in front of him were three objects, one of which were two milkshakes. One was chocolate and the other strawberry. Harry found this combination quite odd because he didn’t particularly like strawberry flavored anything. All in all he shrugged it off, thinking it must have been a mistake by whoever was waiting on him. 

While reaching for the chocolate milkshake, Harry noticed something plastered to the side of the other. It was a small but thick piece of paper, folded twice with one small smiley face on the outside. This smiley face, however, was different from any he’d seen written before. Where two dots would usually reside, as the eyes, were two small x’s. Harry liked this, he found it cute. 

Taking one last glance at the tiny work of art he proceeded to open the paper. Inside, written in sloppy handwriting compared to his loopy-cursive ness, was a single command. Simply, it read; 

“Look up.” 

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

When he had finally moved his eyes off the paper and upward, Harry realized the blurry shape staring back at him. It was simply the wall, in his flat, adjacent to his bed. Nothing special, as far as he could see now that is. Disappointed, he flopped over on his sheets, fluffing his pillow before laying back down in defeat. He sighed long and deep over the fact that one of his best dreams had turned out to be just that. A dream. In his groggy state, Harry pushed himself from bed and rubbed his eyes, letting them adjust to the light. His clock read 8:32. 

“Shit.” He breathed. His first class, English Literature, was set to begin at 8:30 making him already two minutes late. In a frantic state, he rushed around his flat shuffling from closet to dresser in search of something decsent to wear. Much to his surprise, Harry was able to put something suitable together within a brief five minutes. The entire ensemble smelled and even looked clean, consisting of a pair of blue skinnies, some band tee-shirt (in which had become so faded the name could no longer be made out) and his white, looking more brown than anything these days, chucks. Examining himself one last time in the mirror attached to his bathroom door he couldn’t help but hear Gemma’s voice in his head. He knew if she were there, a comment of how hipster he looked would have made it’s way into conversation. Smiling at the thought he grabbed his coat, pacing for the door. 

Now, the clock read 8:40, meaning Harry had taken only eight minutes to recover from a rather fantastic dream, get dressed in something at least half-presentable, and imitate his sisters fashion sense. 

“Not bad, Styles.” He mouthed to himself, inching closer to the door. Remembering to pick up his keys from the small shelf and grabbing the door handle, Harry stopped in his tracks. Something was poking itself out from under the doorway, halfway in and halfway out. Instantly, like the high pitched drum beat to his favorite song, it hit him. The article lodged half-in and half-out of his flat was, a note. Another note. This newest one had been composed on the same sticky note stationery as the last. Yellow. Outside of it one small detail that made Harry’s heart flicker. A small smiley face drawn in black ink sprawled across the paper. Two x’s for eyes instead of dots. 

Harry knew what this was but he couldn’t seem to believe what he held in his hands was actually what it was. Whoever was sending these notes sent him another and this time it was even a bit longer than the last. 

“Hello again. I hope, well now I realize my last note came off as a bit stalkerish and maybe even too forward?. I dunno, to be honest. But the last thing I wanted was for you to see me as creepy. Anywayyyy, maybe we could try this again? Or..we could get to know one another first, yeah? I think that might be best. What do you think?"

Out of everything he has ever loved, Harry was surely starting to like this guy. He seemed anxious but, he was only that way out of the desire to be nice. That’s another thing, Harry liked that he came back. He had seen his first attempt fail, and was resilient enough to give this, whatever this was, a shot. The, his, infamous sticky-note-stalker was turning into quite the optimistic. One of the many qualities Harry seemed to either doubt or lack within himself. 

The thing that probably distinguished attending university versus going to school, was that there were no bells. So if anyone was to be technical Harry wasn’t technically late as there was no bell to pronounce him as such. Therefore, he strolled into class and proceeded to take his usual spot. It was the last desk, in the back, to the very left of the lecture hall. He liked it the best because first, his desk was one of the closest to the four large windows lining the wall. Harry was constantly day-dreaming and having a seat closest to the outside world was probably the best thing he could have wished for. 

Secondly, his prefered spot was farthest away from all his peers. Now, it’s not that he didn’t want to be social, sometimes it was just hard to know how. And how, as he discovered, had a broader meaning than what any dictionary ever defined it as. To Harry how meant not only knowing what being social meant but also, knowing the steps to carry it out successfully. The easiest way to become social, in the correct way, would most likely just to not question the way of it at all. But, Harry was Harry and that’s just what he did, how he processed ideas. 

By the time he had been able to escape his own thoughts, class had already began as it usually had. His professor was copying notes to the board as everyone else copied them down into notebooks or word documents as frivolously as they were written. In fact, he was just about to begin following everyone else before the door opened. Someone was late and this time, that someone wasn’t Harry. 

Whoever it was seemed to be so distracted that he hadn’t even noticed the fifty or so pairs of eyes staring back at him as he entered the room. To Harry, this boy seemed to not be fazed by being the center of attention and what he did next proved his observation to be true even further.Turning on his heels from the blackboard, the boy looked confidently towards the class smiling.  
“Hello!” he exclaimed in the tone that was almost too chipper for it only being 9:00 in the morning on a Monday. The class mimicked his greeting in a tone the completely opposite of his, including Harry, who couldn’t wrap his head around why someone was just so, happy. 

Noticing the ‘crowds’ reaction the boy nodded and began to find a seat. Secretly, Harry had hoped that maybe this new student would sit next to him. Normally he wouldn’t want any company but this, he, was different. He sighed when the boy had found a seat near the middle and a bit off to the right. Although, Harry’s view was quite spot on. Even from his seat, all the way in the back, he could almost see each individual fluffy fibers that made up his beanie. It was red and looked very comfortable. After a small observation of his outfit, Harry decided to at least try to direct his attention back to the lesson at hand. 

“Now, you all know the father of the very concept, Gregor Mendel, had began studying trait-inheritance and had thus developed the way as we now know to be genetics. The term, is still widely used today but in the form of gene…”

It just wasn’t happening. Everytime he’d try to take notes or study the board his eyes would fall upon the brown-haired boy towards the center of the room. It was like he had become a magnet and Harry was most positively trapped in his magnetic field. 

Class blew over and had overwhelmingly consisted of Harry’s gaze constantly on the new student. Inside, and as always, he had begun to fight the urge to walk up to him. Say hello or whatever. This was different, something Harry had never felt the urge to carry out before. Whatever his feelings were, he managed to hold it down. Well, almost.

Halfway through the door on his way out, Harr being the clumsiest being on the face of the earth, tripped over his untied shoelaces. The incident would have not been as catastrophic if only someone wasn’t stand directly above him. Books began to fly as Harry finally hit the floor with a thud. As he looked up, an even prettier set of eyes looked down on him. 

This, Harry had deiced, was the first and most prominent feature of him. Eyes blue as the bluest crystals, the clearest seas. They were sharp but not as sharp as they had been inviting. 

“You alright mate?” blue eyes spoke, laughter faint in his voice. 

A few awkward moments passed before he spoke up again, realizing that Harry was at a lost for words. Which, was not entirely a lie. He was not so much at a loss for words as he was taking all that was presented in front of him. 

The boy was gorgeous and Harry was speechless. 

For the next few moments they found one another engulfed in eachothers presence. Harry, for one, could not fathom the way the boy’s eyes changed when he moved. Even in the slightest his eyes could transform from a forest green to starry blue. Not having witnessed anything of this nature before, Harry was astounded and, as per usual, did not have the ability to form a coherent sentence. 

Trying to fill in the awkwardness that pursued, the other boy offered a hand down to him. For being so small, Harry was surprised at how easily he was lifted off the floor. Now standing up, he brushed himself off and flashed a smile in the boys direction, “Thank you,” He said, pausing, “I’m normally not this clumsy.” Books had been scattered along with papers in pile at their feet. Harry bent down to gather them up, cheeks burning a deep red. 

“Don’t worry about it-here let me help.” Together they picked up his textbooks and papers, filing them back into their designated slots, in alphabetical order nonetheless. Once everything of Harry’s was squared away, he looked up at him, “I don’t think I know your name? I’m Harry.” He managed to spit out with as minimal rambling as possible. 

“Tomlinson, Louis Tomlinson.” The boy, who now had a name, answered. Harry could not help but smile at his quite successful attempt of imitating James Bond. Although he had never watched any of the films, it was nice to know that this Louis had a sense of humor. It’s not that Harry was incapable of wit, his wit was just something others could never fully comprehend. But maybe, if the two got to know each other well enough, Louis would understand and most importantly, laugh. 

The mention of James Bond propelled Harry into his next thought, “You a fan of him? Bond I mean.” 

Louis seemed to shrug, “To be honest mate, I’ve only ever seen half of the first film. Which,” he paused holding his hand up in defence, “was not as boring as I thought. If anything it was a step above the Notebook.” His eyes seemed to squint and Harry could not find it in himself to decipher whether or not Louis had just written-off one of his favorite romances. 

“When you say, ‘it was a step above the Notebook’ what do you mean?” All in all his tone stayed curious rather than furious. Harry did not want to show Louis how passionate or opinionated, if you chose to think of it in that context, he could really be. After spending so much time wrapped within himself and his thoughts, it was just the way he had become. It was just him. 

“Eh, don’t get me wrong I liked it. I like most romance, especially if they’re comedy. But, if you were to watch three different romance films in a row before finally getting a taste of even the slightest amount of action, you might just rate it above as well.” 

By this time, the pair had made their way two doors down the hall from where their mornings Genetics lecture had taken place. Harry, who tends to be in constant awareness of his surroundings, was surprised to have only just noticed how far down the narrow pathway they had made it. Up ahead was the Union Hall. Taking a glance down at the analog clock on his phone, he saw it was only quarter past eleven. The rest of his day was open for whatever he saw fit to accomplish. Which, had a long winded streak of turning into four up to even five hour naps. 

Louis must have noticed the time just as Harry was shutting off his phone, slipping it back into the pocket of his blue jeans.“Oh bollocks.” he managed out under his breath. 

“Am I holding you back from being somewhere?” Harry asked, feeling ashamed and a bit embarrassed for holding such a boring conversation over so long. 

“No, no. Just have a History lecture half across campus at noon. My fault really, shouldn’t have put so many classes so close together in time. But, I do have to start my journey back that way. Care to join?” 

There was nothing more he wanted than to join but, being reminded of the time shot Harry back towards the brutal truth that was reality and, he had a date at three. To most a meager four hours was plenty enough time to prepare for a date. But, since going out was not a normalcy he wanted everything to go right, even if it meant getting ready hours ahead. 

“I really wish I could but, I have something planned. Well, I didn’t plan- it wasn’t my idea. I just know I have to show up and..” the rambling ensued and Harry was desperate for Louis to offer a quick “Okay” or “Well that’s too bad" 

Instead he simply stated, "I'll see you again yeah? Class and whatever." 

Not wanting to turn Louis down, Harry mustered his best smile. It was genuine on account of his want to spend time with him. In fact, he couldn't wait to meet up again and he hadn't even went his separate way. "Yeah, definitely" he finally answered beginning to turn on heels down the opposite way. 

"Hey-wait!" Louis bellowed just as Harry began taking his first steps back to the loneliness of his flat. 

"Let me give you my number." He began to fish around his bag for what Harry thought was a pen but, instead he pulled out a small piece of paper. "Here." Louis said handing it over. "If you ever want to chat outside of class, call me-or text. Yeah, texting is probably the best option." 

"Great, will do, but," Harry paused not wanting to sound too forward, thinking over his next choice of words carefully, "tell me, do you always have your phone number written down and at the ready?" 

Louis stood there smirking at the curly boy, who he now had noticed had intriguingly green eyes. Like a wildfire of evergreen had caught ablaze within them. "Only, and I mean only, if and when I make the acquaintance of people like you. You're quiet, I could use quiet in my life." 

"Oh," Harry fired back in a slightly sarcastic tone. "so you're using me huh?" 

"No, not at all. I'm befriending you. And, if you must know, which I know you must, I only make an effort with people who are worth it."

"But," he paused, putting the words Louis had just spoke together, "We've only known each other for five minutes..." 

"Better than not knowing each other at all, yeah?" Louis answered shifting his body half in the other direction and half still directed towards Harry. 

At that he left Harry with a wink, mimicking his prior gesture by turning on his heels and thus walking in the opposite direction. Leaving Harry swimming in his thoughts and the slightest of happiness.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Stepping out into the world beyond the Union Hall and his thoughts of Louis had shown to be difficult but, the sun was helpful. Harry invited with the thought of it being his reward for actually talking to someone for once. And, the thing was, talking to him hadn't seemed like a difficult task. Harry, in fact, hadn't even looked at it in that way. It was fun.  
Back in the safety of his room once again, he sighed and fell onto his pillow. Turning over on his back, Harry felt strange. It was a feeling he had never felt before, let alone one he could describe. More than anything, Harry had the urge to find where Louis’ next class was and wait outside until it was over. He just wanted to talk with him again, walk next to him, be with him.

Sooner or later, Harry realized he had an even bigger issue, to which had been set on the back burner of his mind for what seemed to be a long time. And, moping around over something, someone, he had no control over would solve no problems. 

“Come on Styles,” he coaxed himself, “get it together.” 

Half-tempted to google: ‘what to wear when first meeting someone’ but restricted doing so while thinking over it’s context. In no way shape or form could this be a date to the other person involved. So, he began the meticulous process of rummaging and making a complete mess of his pristine closet. Thirty minutes flew by as if they were five seconds and Harry had found absolutely nothing to wear. Sighing in defeat, his body pulled him back into bed. Falling asleep to the thud-sounding heater lying above him, Harry drifted off, paying no attention to the time. 

As per usual his quick snooze turned into a two hour napping fest, complete with the what-year-is-it mentality after waking up. Groggy and with a burning urge to use the bathroom Harry got himself out of bed without a fight. His sink tended to mock him as he looked closer into the mirror whilst washing his hands. 

“Jesus christ” was all that managed to escape as he took a closer look at the bags under his eyes. For lack of words, Harry was a mess, and that was to say the least. His skin was a porcelain pale, but unlike the fine diamond surface, his seemed a bit more rough around the edges. Bruises lined his arms, ones of which he did not know existed. Trying to remember where they could have originated resulted in a massive headache. One he had not wanted to bear. With nothing else to do, and the early formation of a headache coming on, Harry sat. Perched, legs and all, curled between the sink and bath. 

He sits for a while, or maybe it's a short time, and remembers. Remembers the days when his mum would come home to see him a state similar to his current affair. But, back then it was over things ever so trivial and primary. Now, it caused a bigger hole, one that was closing in by the second it had seemed. He seems to understand, now more than ever, that this is the worst part of depression. Wanting to do so many things and be with other people but your mind holding you back so far that before you know it’s been a year since you’ve been out properly with friends. It is something he needs, or so he’s sure, but his mind puts a block on his physical capability to do it. And that’s just how it goes. To tired to protest Harry picks himself back up and trudges to the only place he knows better than his own self, his bed. 

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Upon waking up the next morning, he finds himself a sticky mess. Sweat and tears had mixed onto his pillow and followed suit through the rest of his bedsheets. The cotton that made up his shirt soaked and exposing his frail body through its material. Rubbing his eyes and becoming adjusted to the sudden amount of light through his eyes, Harry sat up. And, just like every waking moment before he glanced at the clock. It was half past two in the afternoon, meaning Harry had slept the onset of fourteen hours. He sat up from under the covers proceeding to wipe he sleepiness and blurred vision from his eyes. 

Realizing the day was almost halfway through, Harry decided to make some use of the daylight left. He began to sit up, his back muscles expanding and contracting with even the slightest move. Once he was fully awake, he made his way into the bathroom. Normally he wouldn't do the whole, 'cold-water-directly to-the-face' routine but, Harry had no choice as he'd already made the choice to declare himself too tired to think up another solution. So, he washed his face, taking in every drop of water as it hit his skin. He had forgotten how good it felt to do this and once he was finished, Harry made a mental note to do so more often. 

Sprawled out on his bed, he then reached towards his desk. He was, yet again, to lazy to actually get out of bed thus forcing all his strength towards retrieving his History book. Once that bridge had been crossed, Harry laid in bed beginning to flip to the assigned pages. Before he could even make it past the cover, something stopped him. It was small and had someone's writing scribbled across. A phone number. Then it hit. Events from the previous day flashing before him in a cinematic way. 

Harry remembers falling and he remembers staring. Starting at a beautiful brown haired boy seated in front him. He remembers tripping, making a proper fool of himself in front of said boy. Their conversation, post-fall, comes back in bits but Harry gathers enough information to come to the conclusion that the number belonged to this boy. This boy was Louis. 

Not really sure of how to move from there, he decides to just go back to studying. It's a harder task than it presents itself to be. Harry starts by lightly tapping his pencil along the page of his reading. After five minutes he's lost it, phone in hand, Louis' number typed in. His thumb hovering over the green 'call' button. 

Two scenarios run through his head at that moment. What if the number he was given was a fake? Harry shakes his head, that couldn't be the case. But, then again it very well could as he isn't very well known on the school grounds and Louis wouldn't be seen with someone so boring. Then it hits him. That couldn't be true either. Louis is new. He barely knows anybody. Hell, Harry thinks, he probably knows as many people as Louis. 

With the thoughts pushed aside Harry goes back to attempting to study. It doesn't work but he ends up trapped in a hazy wave of sleep. 

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

A few hours later Harry wakes up in a panic on top of his history book, drool dripping down from his chin. His sight travels next to him and he sees the small piece of paper. The paper that has Louis' number lazily scribbled onto it. 

Pushing the contents on his bed aside, Harry hesitantly gets out and walks towards the bathroom. Opening the door with a jolt, he looks into the mirror. The thoughts enter him like a black sea. Full of regret. This happens enough for Harry to know the words and thoughts racking his brain aren't real, they don't mean anything, but nonetheless they still hurt. He grips the side of the sink with both hands and dry heaves any air he can gather. Looking down on his left wrist, Harry knows what he's about to do. He knows but he has no control over it. There's nothing he can do to stop himself. 

He should have thrown the razor away a long time ago, but it still sits perched on top of his mirror, beckoning for his skin. The itch and burn sets in across his arms. Harry shouldn't admit it, he doesn't want to believe that it's gotten to the point of an addiction. But it's as if this has always been the case, stuck between suppression and depression. He lets depression win more often than not and to say the least, it doesn't help his case. 

The razor is now in his hand, settled between his thumb and index finger, sharp edge facing his wrist. Slowly, he lifts the razor down, beginning to cut small lines into his skin. He blacks out. 

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

It's the same routine, without flaw or fail each time Harry wakes up on his bathroom floor. Tears staining his cheeks and a headache that continues to rock his brain. He doesn't know why he does it or where the 'high' comes from but whenever he does, the voices subside. They leave. And if he stops, he knows they'll come back. They can't come back and so Harry doesn't let them. 

Quickly he stands up, legs still shaking and almost unable to hold his weight. He uses the wall and pushes up onto the sink. Turning on the water, Harry waits for it to get warm and then places his wrist below the running cascade. It stings for only a couple seconds as the red washed into the white of the sink. After he's finished cleaning he grabs a towel and dabs the area in which three new lines lay. There's a medical kit with bandages at the ready and wraps up his fresh wounds blindly, half awake. He hasn't slept in what seems to be two days, nor has he attended class. His flat has become a safe haven, one he'd rather not leave, well only if he had to that is. 

After cleaning up the bandages and setting the kit back in its designated spot, Harry decides it's in his best interest to shower. He agrees, though, that he doesn't have to go to class, he doesn't feel like he's ready. And if he were to show up, he wouldn't really be there, in the mien the and such. So, he showers and spends the whole day with himself, five of his favorite Disney films and of course, his couch. 

Thirty minutes into the second movie, Harry realizes he's proper bored. It normally never gets this way but, he's just kinda, bored. He pauses the movie and sits up from inside the burrow he's made in the couch and his blanket. Tapping the remote with his index, middle and, ring finger he tries desperately to come up with something to do. Looking around him he finds his phone on top of the table adjacent to the couch. Flopping over, Harry picks it up and checks the time. Five minutes past four. He sighs in defeat and begins to set the small black device back down. That's when he spots it. The small piece of paper. The paper that holds Louis' number. 

Another hour of his life passes as he paces the living room of his flat. It's like he's pulling petals off a flower and asking himself 'should I call, should I not..' It takes another twenty minutes but, Harry finally gives in and dials the numbers shakily into his keypad. His thumb hovering over the call button. He presses it just as a shaky breath escapes his lips. 

"You can do this" he whispers to himself as the phone begins to ring. After three tones, Louis picks up. 

"Hello?" His voice is rough, like he'd been sleeping or about to fall asleep. Harry immediately feels regret. 

"H-Hi, it's Harry, Harry Styles? We met the oth-" 

Harry's cut off by Louis' small chuckling as he replies, "Yes, yes, no need to be frantic. Hi Harry, what's up?" 

He takes a deep breath at Louis' words and begins to relax. Like Louis had said, no need to be frantic. Harry begins to play with the fringe of his blanket as he thinks of what to say next. 

"Sorry to call at such an odd hour, I'm just bored, I guess." 

"Well what were you doing before this inevitable wave of boredom washed over you?" Louis asks giggling into the phone. 

Harry likes this, the way Louis talks, the words he uses. In a way it matches the way he phrases his words. Although, when words roll of Louis' tongue they sound much better than that of his own. 

"This is going to sound odd seeing as I'm almost a proper adult but, I was watching...I was watching disney films" he says the last two words quickly and a bit quieter. Harry isn't sure why but he's embarrassed to say he played hooky and sat on his couch to watch Disney films. 

"Hey now," Louis' voice raises and he can sense some bit of excitement. "I for one, adore Disney films. They're my absolute favorite, to be honest." A few moments pass before his voice comes over the line again, "Which one were you watching?" 

"Tarzan, I use to watch it all the time with my mum when I was younger. We'd sit on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, although I use to always fall asleep and-" he's rambling, this almost to never happens. Only if you were to count the times that he speaks to his mum, which most likely doesn't count. "Sorry, I'm babbling, I won't bug you with my childhood memories" Harry laughs trying to sugarcoat the stupidity he feels. He's sure Louis can sense it through the phone. 

On the other line, he hears the boys body shift likes he's laying down, "No, no keep going" there's another pause in sound being exchanged between them, "I've got all night." 

Never once has he opened up like this to someone. He's never felt like he should and or even could. But, Louis just seems like an incredible listener, like he was put on earth to listen to what Harry has to say. So, he nods to himself with a smile and continues his story. 

"Thank you, honestly." He starts, getting himself comfortable within the cushions of his couch. "Anyway, so, my mum, she's wonderful. My best friend practically. And I guess I got my knack for sapy animation films from her. She told me once that when she was pregnant with me, that's all she did. Rain or shine, she'd plant herself on the couch and watch film after film until she fell asleep." He laughs, shaking his head at the thought. "Even went as far to say it's the reason I was born a month later." Louis gasps, but it's friendly, as far as Harry could tell. 

"You were a ten month baby?" 

"Yeah, although I was the same size as any nine month, I didn't really grow, just stayed in there longer I guess." The smile on his face is now growing from cheek to cheek, dimples on display. He can't help it, he loves talking about his life, especially with someone there to listen. Especially, Louis. 

"I love babies, my mum's a midwife. When I was younger I use to go with her to the hospital on the weekends and peer over the edge into where they nursed them. I'm sure if someone had a camera and caught me in one of the various moments I visited, I would have looked like a kid in a chocolate shop." 

The grin has gotten larger, fondness spilling out all over the place. So much so, Harry doesn't even bother to put a lid on it. Instead he matches Louis' enthusiasm as their discussion carries on. They move from the various topics of: Disney films, babies, family and topping it off with food. Needless to say, the pair lost track of time. 

"Is it really almost midnight?" Louis asks pulling his phone back to his ear. "I'm surprised my phones battery has lasted so long." He ends his sentence with a laugh which Harry mimics with a happy sigh. 

"I guess so...sorry to keep you on so long, I can't even recall why I called in the first place" 

"Is that all you say?" Louis asks 

"What?" 

"Sorry. Look," he pauses "let's make a deal alright?" 

"Okay." Harry answers hesitantly worried of the direction their dialogue is now heading. Nonetheless, he agrees and listens to the boys next words with careful ears. 

"You aren't allowed to say sorry anymore. Not as long as we're talking at least-" 

"But, I am." 

"Harry, you have nothing to be sorry for, and repeating the word so many times it looses its meaning. Plus, I've said it and I'll say it again; you have nothing to be sorry for. Yes, you called me and I could have easily just let it go to voicemail but, you know what?" He asks 

"What?" 

"I'm so glad I didn't. You're a real pleasure to talk to you know. And so yes, I'm glad we took these past few hours and spoke. Really." 

His mum had always told him all the qualities Louis had just then but, for some reason, coming from Louis' mouth, they meant more than any words ever could. He's not sure why, he just knows it, feels it. 

"Thank you, Louis. Honestly, no one has ever spoken with me for this long. And," he pauses, "you're pretty great yourself." 

"Of course. And thank you, Harry." He puts emphasis on the last word getting the feeling that Harry doesn't hear it enough. It hurts Louis because now he knows, he knows how great of a person this boy is and for someone to not give him a chance, it's truly their loss. “Remember, you can call me anytime, alright?” Louis means it too, he’d free up anytime in his day if it meant getting the chance to speak with Harry. 

“Same to you.” Harry smiles unable to contain the fondness that is pouring out of him once again. He likes this, this moment right here, talking to Louis and listening to what he has to say. It’s new but, it’s amazing. “I’ll let you go. Thanks again.” He states waiting to hear his voice one last time before hanging up. 

“Call back soon, yeah?” 

“Absolutely. Are you free tomorrow?” 

“Most likely but, if not I’ll be sure to make time. Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Louis.” 

 

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Their conversations over the phone last for a week and Harry is proud to say that he’s learned a lot. He now knows Louis is the oldest of seven children and that he has two sets of twins in his family. This bit gets them off track as they, yet again, take another stop on the baby train. Louis tells him that he would give anything to have a set of twins running around and Harry could not agree more. As the week goes on their conversations last longer and Harry can’t help but want to be with Louis. See the smile on his face, the way his eyes light up when he talks about anything and everything.  
“What’s your expression at this very moment?” he asks 

Louis finds this to be an odd question at first but, goes on to describe it,  
“I’m smiling. Well it’s more of a proper grin, probably the cheesiest in the history of smiles, to be quite honest. What about you?” 

“Close to the same. I don’t know, just love hearing you talk. It’s as if your voice has this magical spell over me.” 

Louis counters with a chuckle, “Like Ariel?” 

“Yes, exactly like Ariel.” 

“Well, you know, I’d love to see you. Outside of class and all.” 

The second day into their nightly calls, Louis had begun creating a thorey. He seemed to think that Harry was the type to have ever so present dimples. The kind that show up even when he smiles in the slightest. And now, he can’t hold back, he wants to see his face again. 

“I’d love that, really.” 

“We have to do it, whenever you’re free of course.” 

“Seriously, I would love to. How about Friday?” 

“I’ll probably have to check my schedule.” Louis jokes into the phone. On the other end, it’s a different story. Harry’s taken him seriously. 

“Right, of course.” he breathes with a sigh. 

“H, I’m kidding. Remember what I said, yeah? I would make the time, I promise.” 

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

4:02 am. 

He’s sweaty and it hurts. Everything hurts, but it’s as if this is all an illusion. Harry knows it happens every night, almost. Like a scene out of a horror movie, his horror movie nonetheless. He finds himself on the bathroom floor, back ledged between the door and sink, looking down at his wrists. This time is different, he’s cut deeper this time, blood spilling more profusely onto the floor. There’s darkness all around him, to the point where he can’t establish what is real from what is fictional. As the darkness sets in, he tries, he tries to push it away. But with all his might, it doesn’t work. And so, he cries. Harry cries long and hard, it hurts, so much more than ever before. He needs something, someone. 

Louis. He needs, Louis.

With shaking fingers, Harry scrolls through his contacts, finding Louis’ name. Without hesitation, he dials his number. Louis answers on the first ring. 

“Hello?” his voice isn’t sleepy, it’s like he’s even more alert than before. 

“I-I need y-y-” Harry dry heaves into the phone, sobbs pouring over his words like wet cement. 

“What, Harry, what’s wrong? Are you-what happened?” 

After several moments of no answer, Louis speaks into the phone. He’s never been put in this situation but he knows he has one job, to get to Harry’s side. No matter what, that’s what he needs to do. 

“I-I’m coming Harry, I’ll be right there I promise, just stay with me okay?” 

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Louis makes it to Harry’s door within fifteen minutes. Surprisingly the door is not locked. He pushes through and calls for Harry three times, finally finding him sprawled out on the floor, his right wrist covered in blood. At first he stands there, stunned at the scene so violently placed in front of him. Think. He tells himself. Looking around he finds towels and the medical kit above the sink. Kneeling down to Harry’s level Louis works quickly placing his head in his lap. Reaching down, he grabs for his wrist, gently. He rubs the antibacterial wash along the cuts. The blood surrounding them begins to dry just as Louis takes the corner of one of the towels to dab with. Once all is said and done he wraps Harry’s wrist with one of the bandages. 

Though he has made progress, there’s still more left to do. Harry has been unconscious throughout all of it. 

“Harry, Harry darling, please stay with me.” 

He’s holding his head in his lap and stroking through his brown shiny locks. They still look beautiful even after becoming coated in sweat. Louis begins to wonder how something like this could happen. How someone far too good for this world could do this to themselves. Harry, Louis knows, is far too good for it. And his heartaches over the fact that no ones ever given him a chance. 

 

Harry doesn’t wake up, making Louis finally decide to lift him back into bed. He lifts the sheets sprawled across the bed back, placing Harry delicately in between them. Louis pulls the sheet and comforter up to his chest, then getting into the bed himself. After what happened tonight, he can’t leave him alone. They sleep together, Harry cuddled into the crook of Louis’ neck. He runs his fingers through his hair again, making sure not to wake him up. 

A few hours into their slumber, Harry finally wakes up. It starts out with a small hum, eyes still closed. When he finally opens them, it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light illuminating the windowsill and even more so the figure in front of him. His mind is a haze as he tries recalling the night’s events. Nothing, absolutely nothing comes to ring any bells. Harry sits up slowly, leaning over to let the light shine onto the person laying next to him. When enough light hits the figures face, Harry knows. It Louis. 

“Lou-Louis, what are you doing here?” he whispers. 

“Oh, Harry, um hi. A-Are you feeling alright?” 

He knows he should just say yes, say yes and spare Louis the details of how he’s actually feeling. But, Harry is sidetracked by whatever reason Louis has to be here. 

"I'm okay, yeah. Just, w-what happened?" Harry sat up, fully this time, listening to the crackle of his bones. He looks into Louis' eyes, as if they would give him all the answers to the questions he's ever asked. 

Louis shakes his head, running his own fingers through the back, "Harry, I honesty don't know. You, you passed out and I didn't know what to do, so-so I held you and pleaded for you to wake up. A-And when you didn't, I knew I had to stay, I couldn't just leave you Harry, ever." 

At this point, he doesn't know what to say. All his life he's been able to deal with what happens to him, by himself. And that's why, he realizes, he's dumbed down the happenings of his pain and sadness so much, they don't mean anything. They aren't anything. But, to Louis, whatever had happened last night broke everything inside him. 

Which, broke Harry even more. 

"Lou," he scooted his body towards Louis'. "Im sorry, I-I didn't mean to have you go through this, I..." 

He takes a breath before saying his next words, "I'm messed up, Louis. And the worst part, the worst part of it all, I don't even know what makes me sad. I don't even know the reason why I am the way that I am. And if I don't know, I can't fix it. I-" 

Harry's speech is cut off as he watches Louis' hand reach towards his cheek. Using his thumb, Louis wipes away stray tears that have begun to fall from Harry's eyes. His breath hitches at first, soothing once he gets use to the feeling of Louis' skin against his own. It sends a spark down his spine, triggering an unwelcomed shiver. Although, it wasn't an unpleasant one, he can see that Louis is in some way affected by it as he moves closer to Harry, raising an eyebrow and lifting his hands as to ask for permission to invade his personal space. 

If Harry is being honest, and he totally was, he wouldn't have minded if Louis had placed his hand on his back without asking and the fact that he had asked, to make sure, made him feel all warm inside. Warm was the only way Harry could describe it really, he'd never been in such close proximity with anyone, especially a boy. And he was really starting to love him, this boy. This boy with the blue eyes and gentle smile. 

"Listen," Louis waits until he has Harry's full attention before beginning his own speech. Harry's eyes look into his, glossy with tears and he starts, "you're not messed up." 

He knows he's wrong, Harry knows that he's lying and he's wrong. Louis doesn't know, he hasn't a clue as to what he's dealt with almost his entire life. He just doesn't understand, and so he tells him that but, Louis doesn't back down, not even for a moment. He just cradles Harry closer, asking beforehand, and continues his soliloquy. 

"I know, I know you've been through a lot, and I may not know what exactly the lot of it is but, I know one thing." He pauses to take a slight breath, "You're worth sticking around to figure it out." 

It had only eight words. Eight whole words, and maybe those words didn't cure all of Harry's sadness, no. But, it was more than a start. He could work on it, he would work on it. Just as long as Louis was by his side. Harry could feel tears swelling up in his eyes for what he thought to be the third time, when in reality, he had lost count. He was too enhanced by the combination of Louis looks and his words, he'd just began to slip away. This feeling wasn't like him, it was rare for him to just absorb himself into something other than his own thoughts or actions. And it's not as if he did it by default, although Harry blamed himself for being so selfish, most of the time he couldn't control it. But, then there was Louis and he was already proving to be a well needed distraction.  
⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆  
They sat together for the rest of the morning, still caught under the covers of Harry's king sized bed. Which, undoubtedly, was the biggest piece of furniture in his flat but fit the two of them perfectly. 

Their conversation didn't run as deep as Harry had anticipated it to, which was more of a relief than a surprise, relieved to know that although Louis did care about how and why Harry was so broken, he was more focused on making him smile. Louis loves Harry's smile. It was full of happiness and this pure joy, and on top of it all, dimples. He had never in his life met anyone whose dimples were as defined or present as Harry's were. Louis made a mental note to himself to mention them. But, for now Louis took his time to really analyze Harry for all he was. 

After a few moments, Louis killed the science between their hallowed breathing,

"That's it, that's what everyone's not picking up on." 

He had meant for his thought to come out in a complete, and more understandable, sentence but his mouth got ahead of his brain, for more than the millionth time. Harry looked up at him. 

"What?" 

"You, they aren't picking up on who you really are." Louis took a breath, already anticipating for the long winded speech that was just about to ensue. 

"They don't understand. And hey, maybe I don't either because, hell I've only known you for a few weeks but, there's one thing I do know." 

Harry's eyes beamed in Louis' direction as the words he spoke poured out of his mouth. Often good at reading others, Louis couldn't exactly tell whether the expression painted on Harry's face was from admiration or terror. He continued anyway. 

"I know that this," he gestures towards Harry's head in a general motion, "isn't really you. It's as if there's this civil war in your head at the moment and it's one between you, your true self, and the demons that are trying to take that part, the truest part over. And, Harry, I know with all my heart that you're trying, trying not to let whatever is beating you up win." 

A hiccup escapes the curly boys lips, tears already beginning to coat his cheeks. All Louis can do is pull him deeper into his chest and so, he does, continuing. 

"I need you to know, I am so proud of you. It takes a lot of courage to fight such a brutal battle, especially one within yourself. But, darling, I know you're going to be okay. And it's not for anything I could or will do in the moments after this point, because this war is yours, yes, but you aren't alone." 

Shifting their bodies, Louis pulls Harry off his chest gently, turning him so that they face one another. Harry can still hear Louis' heartbeat in his ears, thumping ever so slightly. He feels a hand glide across his shoulder which ultimately forces him out of his own head and forward, towards the boy with beautiful blue eyes. Harry focuses on him intensely. Scanning his entire body now, he notices that Louis' pinkie is stretched out within the space between them. It's an offering, he assumes.

"I want to make you a promise, and before I do I want you to know," he pauses looking off to the side of where their bodies are positioned, "I never make promises." 

"Why," Harry insists after Louis is finished, "why haven't made a promise?" 

"I don't think they're worth anything." 

"Then, why make one to me?" 

Louis hesitates, but it's not because he's not sure how to answer Harry's question. But, because of the way he looks in this moment. The one that they're having together, right here. 

"Because, I think you're worth more than a promise, but a promise is the only thing that is deep enough to give you. Right now, anyway. So, I'll give you this promise; to be by your side, right now and forever, until I am able to give you more than a promise would ever equate to." 

Harry's eyes are long gone with tears. Proper fat ones, rolling down his cheeks and staining his grey jumper. He's speechless and does not know how to respond, with words that is. So, he lets his heart decide. 

His heart works in close quarters with his lips, which end up crashing into Louis'. They're intertwined, closer than they've ever been before. If it was up to him, Harry would never want this to end and so he milks it with all he has. 

Sooner or later his brain turns back on but, Harry can't help but think about how just one person killed its constant chatter. How just one person, made it all stop. 

And just how that one person, was Louis.


End file.
